


The words will fall like teeth

by Cirkne



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mental Health Issues, a lil angst, mentions of death and blood, suicide attempt bc wade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 15:29:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9555092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cirkne/pseuds/Cirkne
Summary: “Look at you,” Wade says, turning his back to Peter. “Puppy dog eyes and all. That’s just unfair.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> title from lipstick covered magnet by the front bottoms
> 
> i should mention it's not written in consecutive order

“Peter,” Wade murmurs in the morning, his voice rough from sleep, his skin hot against Peter’s. Peter pulls him closer. Tries to pull him closer, really just pulls himself closer to Wade. 

“Wade,” he answers in the same tone though he knows they both mean different things. Their sheets are tangled somewhere under their feet and Peter thinks he should wash them when he gets up, nuzzles his nose into Wade’s neck.

*

Before everything, Wade is sitting on the edge of a roof, eyes focused on something far away, his hands in his lap. Peter reaches out, rests his fingertips on Wade’s back, says:

“If I push you, you’ll die,” the red of his glove against the red of Deadpool’s costume, just above where his katanas meet. 

“Sure will, baby boy,” Wade answers, his voice empty of his usual cheeriness. “If you ever wanna do it, you know, see what killing is like, I’m all yours.” Peter drops his hand, swallows. Wants to say: _I’d never want to hurt you_ but the day seems too loud for that. He says:

“I’ll let you know,” and moves to sit next to Wade. The sky’s turning orange. Wade’s hands twitch in his lap, he still hasn’t looked away from far off into the horizon. Beneath them, the city moves in it’s never stopping rhythm.

“You ever think about killing yourself, kid?” Wade asks though he doesn’t sound like himself or like he wants an answer. Peter hits his heels against the edge of the building when he sits down.. Thinks of the empty apartment that waits for him. “I tried even before Weapon X, you know. Think the world would be any different if I had succeeded?” 

“My life would certainly be quieter,” Peter answers and Wade snorts, rips his gaze away from the sky, finally. Looks down at the cars on the street. He ducks his head and the sun blinds Peter for a moment. Then, Wade is falling. Peter watches him for a moment before he jumps after him, swings him onto another roof. 

“Shouldn’t have expected that to work, huh?” Wade asks, smiling, if only a little, through his mask. He looks sheepish suddenly, younger. Peter holds him up for longer than he needs to. It’s not the first time he’s stopped Wade from killing himself. Not the last time either, he assumes. He lets go, eventually, runs his hand through where his hair would be if he didn’t have his mask on. 

“Shouldn’t have,” Peter agrees, shifts his weight from one leg to another and waits. Wade starts laughing. Loud. Bends himself in half, hands around his waist, mouth hanging open. Laughs the way Deadpool does. Obnoxious and ugly in a way, makes Peter feel like he’s missing something.

“Jesus, kid, what are you getting yourself into?” he asks through the laughter and Peter feels small and out of place.

“I wasn’t aware I was getting myself into anything,” he answers though his words don’t feel like they fit or like Wade hears them at all.

*

Peter falls asleep half on top of Wade and wakes up pressed to his chest, his hand firm on Wade’s thigh, thumb still moving up and down. It seems he can’t stop touching him, doesn’t want to stop touching him. Wade says he doesn’t get it, but he lets him. Of course he does. 

*

Wade bites his wrists, where his webshooters rest in his costume. The teeth marks never stay for longer than a minute. He says it’s important to know when something is his even if the bites don’t really mean anything in the long run. Wade wonders, out loud, if he would die if Peter bit him.

“I don’t have venom,” Peter says, absently and then they both look at each other, Peter from where he’s sitting on the couch and Wade from where he’s leaning on the kitchen counter. Wade grins and then Peter grins back, shakes his head at himself. “Anymore,” he adds and then they both snort. Peter thinks how if he forgets everything that’s ever happened to him he’ll still think about the sound of his spine cracking that Venom brought with it.

Peter makes a sound against his teeth when Wade bites him. It’s a sigh before it’s anything else and Wade looks apologetic half of the time. He still bites, bites, bites. Peter says: “It’s not like you would forget I’m yours,” and Wade laughs, teeth like a threat to his veins.

Sun patches, warm on the apartment floor, when Wade says:

“What are you doing here?” his mask riled up on his neck. Peter reaches to fix it and Wade hits his hands away, says: “What the fuck are you doing here, Parker?” sharp, sharp, sharp.

“You invited me,” Peter answers though he’s mostly lying. Wade stopped inviting him long ago, but he hasn’t thrown him out in months. 

There’s a perfect universe where his spider senses stop warning him about Wade because his instincts learn to trust him and there’s this universe where Wade grabs for a gun and Peter is out of his way before his fingers reach it.

“You don’t belong here,” Wade tells him, in a tone that Peter hasn’t heard in a long time and Peter thinks, suddenly, of the teeth marks on his wrists that have long since disappeared and hickeys that never stay. His healing factor makes traces of Wade fade away from his body, like the only proof of them being together is bruises and wounds. 

Peter could probably say: “I belong with you,” in an attempt at a romantic moment. Instead, waving a plastic bag in front of him, he says:

“You’ll let the food get cold,” Wade puts the gun back in it’s holster and Peter rests the takeout containers on a windowsill closest to him. Watches Wade walk over to it. He doesn’t look like he’s been living in this apartment, bumps into the corner of the couch, but it happens sometimes. Peter knew what he was getting into.

He goes home because there’s not much he can do when Wade’s like this. Desperately searches his body for marks that might have not healed. Feels spacey and sick, wonders if he and Wade really happened. Feels like his thoughts are covered in fog. Watches his phone until Wade calls and then goes to him. Makes him bite, bite, bite and stares while everything heals. Finds his portion of the takeout in the fridge.

*

Wade bleeding out on the staircase of Peter’s apartment complex, cursing, saying:

“I swear this is your fault, you kindhearted arachnid, can’t let me kill _anyone_ , can you?”

*

“You don’t want to do that, baby boy,” Wade says after Peter asks to see his face. Raw and vulnerable. It’s dark in the apartment. The curtains, heavy and yellow, drawn to barely let light in. It feels like the sun that reaches them is dirty somehow.

He’s seen his face before, seen his limbs growing back and his skin threading itself back together. He’s seen his insides and his blood on the floor. He knows why Wade doesn’t want to say yes in the yellow of his apartment, nothing to distract Peter from really looking. He’s also seen the way Wade’s lips twitch before he smiles sincerely, seen how tightly he holds things that are dear to him. He’s seen him fall asleep, all loose limbs and the mask lifted up above his nose to stop him from snoring. He doesn’t know how Wade hasn’t realized he’s been looking for over a year now. Longer, maybe. Doesn’t really know when he started. Can’t seem to stop. He says, threading his fingers together:

“I really do, though,” and hopes Wade trusts him enough by now. Wade stays leaning on the table like he was, turns his head to the side.

“It’s not a pretty sight,” he mutters like he’s assuring Peter. Like all he wants to do is make sure the scars are really there and his mind hasn’t been playing tricks on him. Peter bites his lip, moves forward towards Wade and then stops right before he reaches him. Searches his mind for words of reassurance and ends up with a quiet, _desperate_ :

“Please,”

“Fuck, you can’t do that to me,” Wade breathes out and then he slides his fingers under his mask and pulls it away from his face. There’s a beat when it feels like Peter’s vision has blurred and then it comes back into focus. Wade looks-

_Soft. _Shades of yellow on the red of his skin. His brow bone, furrowed, only a little. He looks different like this. All the edges in his muscles have given up. He looks, almost, like a picture of someone that didn’t know they were being photographed. Soft and quiet, and raw.__

__It feels big. Them like this, neither speaking and Wade bare in front of him. Peter’s hands might start shaking, he doesn’t know. Feels like they do. He breathes in and it catches in his teeth, in his throat, doesn’t know if it even reaches his lungs._ _

__“Told you,” Wade says, something bitter and sharp in his mouth, fingers gripping his mask tightly. He’s not looking at Peter. He’s never looking at Peter. “If you’re done now,” moves to put his mask on again and Peter grabs for his hands._ _

__“No,” he whispers and Wade stills completely, like a perfectly sculpted statue. “I want to- here,” he says pulling his hands away slowly and then grabbing at his mask, practically ripping it off before Wade gets the chance to hide his face again. “Here,” he repeats and thinks he should probably say: _I’m Peter Parker_ but can’t bring himself to._ _

__Wade looks at him, finally. Looks for a really long time, eyes narrowed, head tilted to the side and then he snorts like there’s something funny Peter doesn’t get. Peter hates when he does that. It makes him unfairly vulnerable. _Fairly_ vulnerable in this case, he thinks. Stays standing still. Watches Wade watch him. Isn’t that what he’s been doing? What they’ve both been doing?_ _

__Wade breaks it. He leans into Peter, just a little. Then, he pushes himself away from the table. Walks to the curtains, opens them. Sunlight glistens against his suit, falls onto his feet and the floor that it reaches through the window. He breaks it by reminding Peter it’s not just them two. Turns, his head still tilted to the side when he looks at Peter._ _

__“I’m supposed to compete with that?’ Wade snorts again, motions vaguely towards Peter, ducks his head. His face is made out of sharp edges again but it is also covered in sunlight and Peter can’t stop thinking about touching it. “Look at you,” Wade says, turning his back to Peter. “Puppy dog eyes and all. That’s just unfair.”_ _

__“I didn’t know we were competing,” Peter says, suddenly aware he’s standing in the middle of Wade’s living room, his mask in his hands. He must look stupid like this. Runs his free hand through his hair, bites the inside of his cheek. Wonders if he should leave now._ _

__“Of course you didn’t, baby boy,” Wade answers, waves a hand in the air and then, quieter, more to himself, adds:“The winner never knows.”_ _

__*_ _

__Wade, his mask up to his nose, his body only half in Peter’s apartment, half out the window he’s climbing in through, fingers leaving marks on the glass and Peter, exhausted, desperate, touch-starved Peter, his hands on Wade’s shoulders, holding him close and their lips pressed together, moving, careful and slow._ _

__*_ _

__His lip is split and there’s probably a bruise forming on his ribs, his clavicle broken, his leg sprained, probably. It’ll heal fast enough. Wade isn’t home and when Peter tries to call, he goes to voicemail. Doesn’t leave a message, but he texts: _I’m dying, you fuck_. It’s not true, but he hopes it’ll get Wade’s attention, wherever he is._ _

__He’s not really bleeding so he allows himself the bed and takes his costume off while half lying down, throws it onto the floor by the night stand. His head’s pounding and his lack of sleep is really starting to catch up to him now. It’s not that bad, he knows, but he expected Wade to be home. Doesn’t like dealing with his injuries alone. He’s selfish like that, bite him. _Ha_. Bite him. Like the spider._ _

__He’s going to throw up. He’s going to throw up in their bed and he just changed the sheets, god. He’d try to pinpoint the moment his life became this much of a mess but it’s been going on for years and he’s tired and Wade isn’t here to carry him to the bathroom so he could throw up like your normal superhero after being badly beaten during a robbery_ _

__If he thinks about it, it’s kind of pathetic. So he doesn’t think about it. Forces himself to stand up, limps into the bathroom and kneels on the white tiles. There are blood stains in the cracks. Wade keeps saying he’ll clean them. Wade keeps saying a lot of things. Peter rests his forearms on the toilet seat. He’s shaking, slightly. Hates being a hero so much sometimes._ _

__His phone buzzes. In the bedroom it buzzes and it makes that annoying text sound that Peter’s always hated. Doesn’t know why he keeps the sound on his phone on at all. Looks at his hands and the tiles and his knees, pressed to them. Breathes out. Realizes he hasn’t eaten anything in hours so there’s probably not anything he can really throw up either. Stays in the same position, still. Waits. Waits for a really long time. Until he’s stopped shaking._ _

__Limps back into the room. Wade has texted back: _me 2. ttyl._ Peter snorts, falls back into bed. Typical, he thinks. Closes his eyes._ _

__*_ _

__When he comes home, Wade is making pasta in the kitchen. ‘Kiss the cook’ apron and all. Sweatpants, fluffy socks that he stole from Peter. Peter leans on the counter to watch him, smiles to himself. Wade only cooks on the good days and Peter tugs at the sleeves of his sweater, feels fuzzy and soft on the inside. Like the socks, he thinks and feels like a teenager. Moves closer to Wade._ _


End file.
